San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1887-01-25

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she was worn out. Never can l forget
the night that followed. / could not
describe it. To me it had the horror Of
an Inferno. cannot tell what would
have happened if Martha had not con-
sented, at last, to give her some brandy.
The next night Martha was so worn
out that persuaded her to 60 to bed:
Nothing else could restore her, and
promised not to leave her unhappy mis-
tresS for moment.
"You will have terrible night, Miss
Chester" said the grim woman.
II shall not mind that, Martha, IL
you have good one," answered.
/ found Lady Severne inclined to be
quiet and to talk nationally. There
was something of sullen defiance about
her at first, but it died away when
had been some little time with her.
tried to interest her, and to make her
forget the horrible craving for stimu-
lants that was destroying her. She be-
came more like herself.
1t was about four in the morning.
lovely June morning, bright with sun
shine and with dew, fragrant with the
Odor Of lily and rose. During her fits
Lady Severne never went to rest like
rational being. That made her so diff
ficult to manage. She would sit up all
night and sleep i'm the day. A sudden
CLEAN of gold shooting into the room
showed me that the sun was rising. l
drew aside the hangings and opened
the window, letting in the sweetness
and freshness of the morning air.
Dear Lady Severne, do come here
for one minute" l said.
She came and stood in silence by my
side. l saw her look at the brilliant,
beautiful tints of the morning sky, at
the fresh, tender beauty Of the green
trees; and then her eyes wandered
round the room. The glasses, the bot
ties. the garish light of the lamp, the
confusion and disorder, how they con-
trasted with the bright pure heavens
and the clear light of day! l knew that
the contrast had touched her; l felt
that the peaceful influences of the
morning had reached her. The wind,
which was like the breath of roses,
over it. She put her arms round me.
II am so tired" she said.
took her in my arms and laid her
head upon my breast-a lost, unhappy
woman, knew, but still Marks wife.
The warm tears were falling then from
her eyes.
"How kind you are to me-" she said.
81 am so tired that l could sleep for
ever, think. Tell me something. Say
to me some of the beautiful words you
sing"
There came into my mind one Of
those poems my mother had loved-one
she had often repeated to me-one
which, when she lay dying. she had
asked me to say once again for her. l
shall never forget my surroundings as
Lady Severne preferred her request
the blue sky flushed with rosy light,
the green earth waking up to summer
life, the dark background of the room
that had been like prison, the beauti-
full, yet haggard face that lay upon my
breast, and the tears that fell like rain.
/ told her that what was about to re-
peat was my mothers favorite, and
that it was called An Angels Song"
you have the face Of an angel" she
said, looking up at me, with that gold
en- light upon it," and she listened to
every word.
81 know have heard them sing, child,
And know that they spoke to me,
With my mothers arms around me,
While sat on my mothers knee,
And she told me of love that saved us,
And Father we had on high,
And the grave that we need not fear, child
And the soul that can never die.
"Again, when walked with the loved one
You remember this loved one, dear,
And the smile that is gone from among us,
And the voice we no longer bear
The voice was so tender and earnest,
That joy was too deep for mirth,
And the heart was too full for speech, child,
And heaven came down on earth.
"Not drop in the cup seemed wanting
The thirst of life to ILL.,
And farther and fainter the song died out,
But heard the angels still.
] think it will not be long, child;
They are bidding me home at last,
To the place where the joy of the future
Shall be linked on the love of the past,
Where the hOuseless shall seek a shelter,
The lonely shall find friend
There the hearts desire shall be granted, 4.
That hath trusted and loved to the end"
Tears are the dew of heaven, the
poets tell us. Tears fell from Lady Sc
verne's eyes upon my dress and hands.
She was clinging to me, wildly crying
out that she wished she had been bet
ter woman. that she loathed her sin,
that she loathed herself. Would show
her the way to that heaven where the
angels sang? What could she do to
atone to Markp What could she do to
regain her lost youth and goodness?
She clutched my arm as she cried out
"a demon holds me in his grasp
take me from himl''
Then, with tears of regret and repent
ance, utterly exhausted, she fell into